


The Making of Men

by Boxcars (kiind)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, i don't know what im doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiind/pseuds/Boxcars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee and Karkat have both been off-planet for four sweeps. However, the same Sufferists that got Karkat his lusus took him into their ship and religion upon his coming of age. Now, after not seeing each other for so long, they meet with Karkat behind the bars of the Church's prison. Gamzee has to decide if his loyalty will lie with his Church or his palemate, and in either case, if loyalty is something worth dying over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Made of Metal

Here, you wake up to thumping feet instead of empty waves crashing.

The noise has you up early; even after sweeps off planet your body is real used to stillness and the start-up of whoops and laughter rips right through your dreaming. The sun ain't but just set back down into the sea when you're knee-deep in your cleanest pile, trying to still your shaking fronds well enough to grasp onto something presentable for the coming night. It don't come easy as it should, but it comes easier than before. You yank on clothes before your hands can forget how to work again and frown at the mirror. _It's been 43 nights._

However fucked up your body is, your hurry leaves you when open your paints. Your hand is surer in putting on your holy face than it is with anything else; you feel like you could balance your clubs on a pinhead for all your trembling. It's a nice second of quiet.

But your sureness is gone the moment you finish and your rushing refills up the space where it was. You grab your clubs last second and are out the hatch before your sopor substitute can cool from what little body heat you got.

They put you in a hall full of trolls who got a sweep or two on you in the way of hatching when they released you this time. You like it better this way; they ain't got the familiarity with you to look any other way than friendly. You jog to make pace with their big feet and give a good night to whoever's eyes you catch. They nod back all warm with wicked grins and signs in every minute shade of purple the Messiahs got. It pounds pride into your pusher, and you are stuck with an uncommon sense of rightness. With the way Alternia changes every generation, there ain't much you have in the way of memory-sharing, but you do like their stories. They tell old inside jokes too private for any troll but family to hear; they talk of foods and fads and fashions that left homeworld with them. Some still lace up their shoes with the colors of their quads and wear their jewelry on the left for favor with Messiah Merciful. You don't know about all that, but you still find grey claw polish on the sleeves of your grub clothes and it makes you smile. Makes you ache down deep too, but nowadays, feeling at all is a good thing.

You walk numb to feeding, but your long chirpbeast legs still get you there before the chimegrub stops crying. Feeder taps the seat in front of her like you don't know what to do already and anger unwarranted lashes in your belly as you sit down. Sister nearest right to you smiles, cheerful and trusting. You try and smile back.

"Settle down, brothers and sisters, we got a...guest among us." You grit your teeth. Orisis is cruel with a purpose towards you, but you didn't think she'd start out so harsh. Guest, she says.

"Little brother Makara here is joining us today. He would have been with you to visit our Grand Highblood's ship, but he was too busy relapsing and getting his ass locked down tight in rehab." Shame comes and crushes your lungs tight to your ribs, crawls it's way up into your face. "How many times is that now, brother Makara?" She doesn't spare you a glance, just looks on to class like your fuck-ups ain't even worth a laugh. You are wound with shame and fury, your bones are locked tight with it.

_There are those among us who would rather tear into each other than the blasphemers surrounding them. Hark, brothers and sisters, there is only so much church blood on this planet- don't fucking waste it._

It's like pushing your bones through concrete, but you manage to drum your claws four times sharp onto your desk. A couple of brothers behind you try out for weak laughter, but it dies faster than it comes and you are glad. You aren't wanting at all of their pity. Orisis continues and sister nearest starts smelling sharp like fear. You stare and the marks you're leaving in the table would better suit a heretic's back and will your hand to release.

"Four times he's left us to make the medicullers wash poison from his pan. Even now, they say his body is still weak from it. It's not certain if he'll ever serve properly in the Church, since he's become so pliant in the head." You bite down viciously on the coward in you begging her to stop. This was going to happen one way or another, best to do it fast and first thing. There are no secrets in the family. To your right, Sister clears her throat and makes her lips all small to whisper, but you are hardly aware.

"H...he's still here right now."

A cholerbear couldn't lift your head now, but you cut your eyes to their corners to watch and listen. You know her better than you thought you did- Sister ties her boots with gold and green ribbons and has a stud in the ear facing you. You recognize her voice more than her body though- it comes through your block's walls. Sister sings herself to sleep.

"You got something to say, wiggler?" Orisis's voice has got sharp edges like someone answered a question wrong. You think on how her humor's lacking and pray for forgiveness. "Little brother Makara's been doing good in our hall. And I work under Mediculler Titrus and she says that every second he wasn't out of his pan twitching and screaming, he was reading scripture and training his body." Her voice comes out fast, like she's scared someone's gonna stop her. "He wouldn't be here if he wasn't way better than us, everybody knows how feeders always put him three learning levels down from where he goes cause of the sopor-"

Orisis don't say shit, but her hand goes tight on her desk and Sister's voice dies off. Nai is a coward and every troll knows it, but that just makes the thanks in you hit all the harder. Her knees tremble under the desk and Feeder lets out a nasty sigh. Much as she favors sisters over brothers and Nai above all, Orisis has a strict reputation of over-top punishment to keep. "Go to confessinailation, and don't come back until you respect your betters!" Sister's already half out the block (knew it coming the way you are knowing of the old man's footsteps from silence, but Orisis don't bother with rebuking her further. Glares at you though, with dark purple eyes almost black in color, she stares and blames you for whatever the brothers and sisters in confessinailation are gonna do to Nai and pushes at you with her voodoos a bit like you ain't made up your mind to take her place the moment her voice came out her squaw- her...throat all soft.

Without a word on what happened, Feeder moves like silk to evening share. "Alright, motherfuckers, let's get this bitch started. The quicker we finish, the quicker I can get on with the actual learning."

One by one, your brothers and sisters march up to the front and tell what they will. They speak mostly of missions and missing beloveds and you pray with everyone else for either swift death or swift return for your starborne kin. Their names and signs are redrawn on the walls, and it is miracle enough that a shaky brother gets to wash away the signs of his two ashen leaves, even as his pale lover's is marked out in black. Class whoops for them and unheard, you pray for him specifically, who has lost so much so fast. _Messiah's mercy for his soul._

You almost miss your turn, so focused were you on his his thick hair and near familiar frown. But you don't, praise Hilarities, you get your body up and walk your un-feeling self next to Orisis's desk. Her chimegrub goes flying under a hand you aren't careful enough with, but a smile makes it look more like cheek than fumbling fronds. You grin wide at those before you and speak honestly.

"I been out of the cage for a good bit and have no thoughts on going back." 'You never do'hangs silently in the air. "I've no quads to worry over, but I'm still praying for all yours. And uh," you swallow hard, "I know you all have been made to think I can't hardly count my fronds I'm so far gone, but I made subjug same as anyone. I'm capable-" Eyebrows raise at that and you clamp down on your temper.

Messiahs help you, you are so **angry** with them for doubting you, you're all ruffled up over things you got no right to be. You bite your tongue and decide to end it there before you can get too much more pissed off.

Long strides take you to your desk slower than you'd prefer. You swing into your seat and take notes on how to break bones and tear at your desk's edges until you can see the metal it's made of.

  
You have no intentions to rest inside you.

_You never do, boy._


	2. Made of Blood

_-just happy they caught you outside of your dress clothes. FUCK, YOU'RE SCARED, so pathetically frightened, but you keep your face stony for the sake of your crew. Picdon clings to your robes and holy fucking shit, you'd forgotten how young he was. His claws are digging as hard as they can into you, but they're still wiggler-soft and he can't even get through your shirt. You just hold him as close as the chains will allow and curl him up in your lap, trying to ignore how unpleasant it is. He smells like piss. "Are they gonna kill us?" he whispers real low and you run cold all over, you have to dig your claws into your palms to keep from shaking. His fear is seeping into your soul, you can feel it and oh no oh no fucking SHIT, you're so scared already... you try to tell him it's going to be alright, but all you can hear is their screaming. You're so fucking pissed off at these goddamn murderers holding you hostage, at him for needing you, at yourself._

_For the umpteenth time, you're regretting ever fucking leaving Alternia._

_But fuck, your sappy and stupid self just HAD to try, right? Fucking asshole wiggler had to be a hero and wasn't even thinking of what it'd be like to die- you know now, you've seen it happen (you've seen it happen when you could have prevented it, you've seen it be all your fault-)_

_SHUT UP CAE- shut up shut up!_

_Pic cries out and you cover his ears, but fuck, you can't cover his nose and FUCKING SHIT, they're gonna burn Caelut this time, FUCKING HELL. The Bishops told you that you're almost Him (maybe that's where this aversion to flame is coming from), but you are positive you're nothing alike, you're so fucking sure that He wouldn't cry like you, you're positive He wouldn't puke all over Himself at the smell of smoking flesh or sob out of craven GLADNESS that it wasn't YOU YOU'RE STILL ALIVE IT WASN'T YOU THIS TIME._ _But you're not the only one crying...and its not Picdon, oh shit, no, who's crying?!_ _Fuck no Cygnus, you thought for sure he was already dead why can't he be dead- Pic tries to look but fucking hell, you don't let him, you can't because, because oh no_

_NO YOU CAN'T YOU CAN'T WATCH THEIR GONNA MAKE HIM WATCH, HOLY SHIT. CAELUT WAS HIS MOIRAIL AND_

_THEY'RE_

_they're making him watch her burn._

_STOP IT STOP IT LEAVE HIM ALONE HASN'T HE SUFFERED FUCKING ENOUGH! Y_ _ou want to go home, you want to be small and warm and safe again, you want anything but this guard who's knocked you over and it's all you can do to not crush the wiggler underneath you as you promise you won't let him die._

_FUCK, the guard isn't gonna stop stomping on your wrist until it breaks why WHY WON'T IT BREAK WHY CAN'T YOU JUST PASS OUT FROM THIS PAIN, everyone else already has. You and your stupid mutant blood- you're so scared it hurts, everything hurts. You're only 12, you've barely even lived. Please stOP STOP IT PLEASE IT HURTS SO BAD JUST MAKE IT END YOU CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE_

_just_

_"...make it stop I'll do anything just don't burn me, please man please I don't wanna die like He died please don't make me die like Him, I'm not Him, I'll be so much better than He was. I'll be good- I don't wanna save the world, I just wanna go home I_

\--

You come up choking.

You bit into your tongue. You haven't the mind in your head to keep the taste of death in your mouth, so you wipe at your tongue with your fronds til it's gone and thank Messiahs you've got the presence of pan not to just spit blood over your table. You must've started up dozing while Feeder spoke- dreaming without sopor is a nasty business. Pain still throbs deep inside your arm, but it's a sensation far from what you all accustomed to and the sharp edges of it keep your pusher pounding harder than it need be. If that's what it's like to be a heretic, you are most glad for how keen you are to the good word.

Orisis eyes you from her desk in the dark and for once doesn't look stern. The block smells like inquisition. Your nose is burning from the reek of fear and it ain't until you notice no one else is present that you realize the scent is coming from you. You try to focus on anything else to drown it out, on the black of the metal and the bright of the paint and on the clock-

Ah, fuck. The clock ain't your friend tonight.

Slowly, then all at once, the world catches up to you. Midday has come and gone and all of a sudden, you've got bigger things to worry about than dreams and well-deserving blasphemers. You stand up too fast, send the desk flying- you need to go to second feed before it's thought that you're skipping, you need to go to confessinailation to save Sister, you need to go to massacre and have someone pray for you. You have-

Oh! You have a motherfucking message.

 

/avidAdulation [ **AA** ] began clowning terminallyCapricious [ **TC** ]/

 **AA:** [:DDD] He'll have you.

 **AA:** [:DDDD] Or, rather- you'll have him.

 **AA:** [:DDDDD]

 **TC:** WhAtEvEr yOu sAy, BrO.

 **AA:** [:DDDDD] Yes, it is 'whatever I say' for you, is it not? That is nice. Goodbye then.

 **TC:** HaHa, WaIt A SeC, mAn. A MoThErFuCkEr nEeDs a tImE, dOn't hE?

 **AA:** [:DDDD] I am unsure, 'bro'. Does a motherfucker? Do you need the time your predecessor will arrive, little boy?

 **AA:** [:DDD] I am sure all this and more could be discovered if we just learned to use our words and speak in first person.

 **AA:** [:DDD] Don't you agree?

 **TC:** I'Ve gOt mY AgReE On aFtEr wHaTeVeR WiLl sHuT YoU Up fAsTeR, mOtHeRfUcKeR.

 **AA:** [:DD]

 **TC:** C'mOn, DoN't PoUt, BrO. uHhHh...Will you tell me what time he wants me to be ready for him?

 **AA:** [:DDD] At your hall's light's out and not a minute later, teeny Makara.

 **TC:** FuCk mAn i dUnNo hOw yOu tAlK LiKe tHaT AlL ThE TiMe. ShIt's uNnAtUrAl.

 **AA:** [:DDD] Amazing things are possible when your pan is functional.

 **TC:** YeAh, YoU'Re rIgHt.

 **TC:** ImAgInE WhAt a mOtHeRfUcKeR WiTh a pAn lIkE YoUrS CoUlD GeT Up tO If hE HaD An aCtUaL MoThErFuCkIn sEnSe Of HuMoR.

 **AA:** [:D]

 **TC:** ShIt wOuLd bE MoThRfUcKiN

 **AA:** [:)]

 **TC** : bItCh-tItS. :o)

 **AA:** [:|]

/avidAdulation [ **AA** ] ceased clowning terminallyCapricious [ **TC** ]/

 

You got a good bit of platonic dislike for all the old man's lackeys, but the Educator is one of few petty enough to return it. You'd spend longer picking at him usually, but now ain't the time for anything but moving. Remembering how to curl up fingers ain't worth it, not now when you have so many things to be done, so your shit gets left. Your gut says next feed, but your palmhusk tell you its far too late for that. Fuck it, you figure, and put what priorities you got left in order.

Sister needs you more than you need to prove anything besides.

Orisis is standing at the hatch by time you've made your pan enough to move toward it and opens her frowning mouth to speak at you. You buckle down your tongue with all the heavy disipline you've been gifted and wait. Sharp eyes cut into you something awful and when she speaks, she sounds in need of a coon in a harsh type of way. "Makara, you know why we're as hard as we are on you, don't you?"

You grit your teeth hard against each other to hold back laughing and breathe till the tension leaves you. "Yes, ma'am, I know plenty." you spit out, fast as you can while getting moving again. She sucks her teeth and whispers your fears with a venom deserved but unwarranted.

"Maybe it's time for the Makaras to step off of the throne."

You can't hold it back. A bark of laughter busts from your gut out your nose, high-keening like a gigglebeast. As if old man wouldn't sooner wear your flesh like a cape before some other line ran the Church. As if he hasn't told you as much, when he visits down deep in the dark room. As...as if

The frame of the hatch slams hard into your shoulder as you shove yourself through it, but you don't mind it too much. You don't mind any sensation you're lucky enough to have. Besides, being out of Big Sister's feedingblock is like a weight released, and walking like this where you can kind of feel your toes is a privilege and a pleasure.

You welcome the dark of the ship. Orisis's bladed tongue is out your ear, and while it's too late for feeds, it's just late enough for empty hallways, and ain't that a blessing?

The hatch beside you shivers with the force of a body slamming hard into the other side of it and the hard laughter that follows quick after.

Maybe not late enough after all.

Your feet carry you natural down towards the chapel- the path there is well worn to your bones. Feeder is put out of your mind, much as you can help it, but a nasty voice in you whispers on her ceaseless venom, on her bitterness toward her betters and her titleless name. Maybe old man has been slinking through your pan too much as of late. It's a sorry thought to have, when you're well aware he plans to come to you this morning, but it can't be helped. You quicken up your pace now, despite still having hours before his visit. Something tells you you won't be having your way much at all today, but maybe if you move fast enough, you can still reach Sister in time.

_Someone has to save that jokeless excuse of a feeder's spawn._

You jerk your head this way and that to shake out whatever is still snarling in you. Sister is sweet and soft, and this much lingering anger ain't founded besides. You are true and well ruffled over things that cannot be helped.

Still.

Your eyes catch on dents in metal and marble that tell stories, ones come more from fogged up memories than the huskpads you read them out of. Your feet move faster past them then they have to, and though you are well aware of its presence, seeing your sign woven so secret-like into archways and tiles and tight corners never stops turning your head. You see echoes of the blood making you up everywhere. The words come to pan unbidden, but the bitter bits of you still aching are quick to snicker.

"Guest, she said."

**_Guest, indeed._ **

A cold sensation takes your over, feels like the ocean drawing away from your ankles to crash over your horns.

**_But you'll be family yet, won't you wiggler?_ **

You open your mouth to answer the voice asking, but your voice ain't acting like your own. You manage to take a breath and then the pressure on your pan drags you to your knees.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it can be annoying when people say this, but this is my first fanfic as well as my first long work. I'm not saying it as a precaution (i actually hope that it wouldn't need one), but I do want it to be known. I'm very unsure as to what I'm doing and am struggling with length, so any constructive criticism as well as tips and tricks would be GREATLY appreciated. That being said, I hope you like it! :D
> 
> Go in peace and prosper.


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